every 28 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
my hands are tired of building new homes
on top of old eviction letters.
I am aching for a body
that treats me like a cure,
and not the disease that needs it.

I live as a counterfeit version of myself;
I am a kleptomaniac who steals the breath
from people that would have found a use for it.
tell me how to refund
what I didn't buy.

my veins are a breeding ground for despondency,
my bones a shelter for malaise.
to try to be kind to myself
is to cauterize a wound
after the infection has already spread.

every walk that i take
every gaze up the avenues
exposes every low lie
about human progress
the glamour and the glitz
muffle the hungry cries
of bewildered no-hopers
the litter and the clutter
tell a story of decadence
and broken down values

She has death in her eyes
Death prowling
Death trailing
Anger bubbling in her heart
Swelling inside
A trigger waiting to be set off
A gun that lies in her heart
She hears
Ticking...
And she
explodes
Her anger boils out of her
And she screams
From all the heartache
All the disappointments
Every single person she has lost

She screams.

Essence of
Buddha's teachings
Succinctly stated:
No Self
No Problem